


celestial compulsion

by Tsukareta



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, If you're here for the Saiouma you'll be p disappointed, Its rreally onesided, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, but the saiouma is kind of there? I don't even know anymore, the saimota will be later i promise please don't hit me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:19:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16784989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsukareta/pseuds/Tsukareta
Summary: Saihara never knew that unraveling the jarred ribbons of lies can lead to the pestiferous, hushed truth.He'd rather wash them out with his own sick, poison that tears and rips him to mere shreds drenched in red.





	celestial compulsion

**Author's Note:**

> This took me so long god damn and just for one chapter ew.
> 
> Why is writing so difficult.
> 
> Also, if you read the tags, I'm sorry but all that stuff will occur later ^^'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I'm going to go out on a limb and say this chapter is pretty tasteless and lacking and I had to split this chapter because the other part I had is for the next chapter since it just didn't look right.
> 
> I had to post this otherwise it'd automatically delete itself :') and its pretty rushed so um yikes

Kokichi stifles a yawn, eyes blandly roving around the library tastelessly.

"Remind me why we're here again?" Kokichi disapprovingly offers a sideways glance at the boy next to him who just nonchalantly shrugs with bemusement at the asinine question.

"Well, Kokichi. What do you think a library is for?"

Kokichi pouts, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his arms over his chest in an offended manner. "Saihara-chan! That's super mean!" Tears crystallize at the corners of his eyes.

Saihara blankly stares at him and arches an eyebrow. "You're like a ticking time bomb, Kokichi." He clears his throat and reluctantly whispers. "A library is for taking out books, like my detective and crime scene novels."

Kokichi's eyes burn into the side of his head and Saihara steels himself to look away as sweat gathers at his temple. Kokichi then grins broadly.

We're all ticking bombs, Saihara." Kokichi trills lightly, treading on the thin ice between them. "Some of us just go off sooner..." A finger sneaks up to the side of his face cheekily, accompanied with an insulting twist of his lips as he skips down every spiraling bookcase.

Saihara's eyesbrows furrow in annoyance, his meager smile tugging downwards into a brooding scowl. Kokichi just shoots a smirk over his shoulder before walking away from Saihara and further into the abandoned, labyrinthine library.

However, as he saunters further, eyes flickering to each towering bookcase with little to no interest, his eyes latch onto a thin piece of paper that sat nestled between thick books that were perched on the bookcase sturdily. He examines the paper from where he remains motionless, eyes squinting through his bangs to try and catch some clue that it wasn't a normal piece of paper.

It had the resemblance of an ordinary piece of paper, so why did he feel goosebumps rise up his arms instantly? His purple orbs dart to where Saihara is a few meters away, seemingly browsing books in deep concentration _or so he thought._

He easily catches Saihara's obliviousness and brushes his thoughts off for foolishly thinking of such a thing.

...Yet that piece of paper looked so out of place in the collection of books that upon closer inspection, were coated generously in dust and lint, edged in the cracks of the worn out pages, on the book's spine and on the bookshelf itself.

Kokichi's gaze lingers on the lone piece of paper protruding from the book like a sore thumb before scrutinizingly narrowing into slits as his body surged forward. As he stood, feet firmly planted on the old, chipped tiles of the floor, he cautiously swipes his slender finger down on the bookcase.

The imprint of his finger on the bookcase is obvious, yet the bookcase looks almost new, fresh, if it weren't for the peeling wood underneath. It stuck out like a sore-thumb among the bland drunken pastel of grey bleeding across the wood.

He pulls a face at the dust smeared over his finger, smudging into the skin.

"Hey, Kokichi? Where are you?" Saihara's voice distantly calls out to him, yet it feels so excruciatingly close to him, as if Saihara's breath is tickling his ear. His body tenses as he desperately searches for golden eyes but none are to be seen.

' _He could be anywhere.'_ Kokichi almost jumps out of his skin as Saihara's voice slithers through the cracks and crevices of the huddled bookcases.

He feels the room become burdening and his palms become sweaty with the feeling of disturbed anxiety coursing through his veins. The walls are closing in on him and he needs to get out. He has to get now. He needs to leave before-

-Saihara's loud footsteps patter against the floor so Kokichi does the only thing he can do- play it cool and pretend to knock down a pile of books to mask the indentation of evidence.

He leans back on the bookcase, elbow propped up on the hefty books that creak under his weight and generously sprawls himself against the bookcase.

"Hi, my beloved! I've missed you!" Kokichi coos, as if Saihara is a hushed, scared animal; he grimaces when he hears the disgusting pet name roll of his tongue. He hates it, it just feels wrong to use because every, single time he does, he feels a heavy weight added into the crowd in his stomach, knotting around his guts with churning bile creeping up his throat.

He can feel the inky tendrils wrapping round his ribcage tightly, constrictingly as segments of bone start to break off from the pressure in the acidic pits below.

As he opens his mouth to make another remark, he pauses when Saihara's pupils dilate. A squeak erupts from his throat when a barrage of books come tumbling down on him.

"Kokichi?! Are you alright?!" Saihara's panic-stricken voice floats through the room and a muffled gurgle comes from under the array of books.

Saihara sighs aimlessly before bending down to remove some of the books to once side while Kokichi was preoccupied with trying to crawl out from under the sea of books- his hand springs up for leverage and finds purchase to haul himself up and slip through the bookish flood.

Numb, intolerable pain ghosts down his sides and concerned golden eyes drill into silky, murky purple.

"Is that b-blood?" Saihara's voice is barely a whisper and very alarmed, simultaneously, Kokichi feels something wet dripping down the bridge of his nose, from the back of his head.

His nose hurt, feeling the pain trickling invisibly onto the floor as it files out, leaving a hollow throbbing and the bruised swelling of his slanted lips in a fake attempt to shrug it off did little to boost his efforts.

"Nee-hee. Saihara-chan's scared of b-blood." Kokichi's legs wobble as he staggers forward.

Firm hands ground him and a twinge of a negative, indescribable feeling surges through him. He bats Saihara's hands away harshly and dusts himself off.

He brings his sleeve up to his face, staining it in a morbidly sweet contrast to his stark white uniform and ignores the sticky wetness seeping through the fabric,

The feeling persists and grows when Saihara offers a confused glare.

"Let's just call it a night?" Kokichi beams brightly, eyes twinkling with arms shakily folding behind his back to cradle his head softly.

He takes extra care to make sure Saihara leaves before him, eyes transfixed on Saihara's moving figure and Kokichi doesn't dare take his eyes off him, not even for a second. His guard stays up high, especially with making sure his back isn't turned on Saihara when the supposed detective wants to check for something that he may of dropped.

* * *

Kokichi grunts as he reluctantly jumps into the midnight air, arm latching tightly onto a burly oak branch.

His eyes peer through his long lashes at the daring ground below, urging him to let go with the strong coercion of misty wind digging into his hips roughly. The crude thought of injuring himself was enough for a snort to pass through the thick air as his fingers let go, one by one and he bends his knees upon the impact. 

When his leg twitches forward, a hiss spits from his lips as the tendrils of pain coil up his leg lovingly, sinking its teeth into the flesh happily. He wants to howl out in pain but he knows better- it'll alert those lurking and loitering in the dark as they stray further in the basking moonlight.

Kokichi casts aside the phantoms mauling at his skin for as long as he focuses on something else, it'll dull out and become nothing than a mere numbness, and so, he complies. Eyes narrowing into slits of suspicion when a single noise pierces the air but it's not enough for him to discard his plans.

He's got a few tricks up his sleeve if things don't go too well, per se; the joker is always sitting in the deck of cards. His eyes mingle with the surroundings before him, seeing the darkness shrouding over the horizon like the never ending ink spillage on a page- it was a little comforting for some peculiar reason.

He advances nearer to the building as it looms over him menacingly.

Kokichi is unfazed as he marches to the entrance and attempts to somewhat soundlessly climb over the gate with skilled expertise as goosebumps scar his skin from the biting cold. His blood turns into ice at the prospect of what he sees before him, eyes widening in bewilderment and marbled panic.

The odd flicker of light from one of the windows was displayed carelessly, the light blending into the dark alluringly as the contrast shifts each time. He feels queasy, bile crawling up his throat as his heart feels too loud, beating in his body, pounding in his ears-

-the light abruptly switches off and his heart stops.

An airy puff shivers before Kokichi to reprimand him of the present, that he just let out a breath he'd been holding, buried deep in his lungs.

It was either now, or never, he supposed.


End file.
